


fatty tuna

by sumaru



Series: team oikage two seventeen [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Altered States, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Blood, Cannibalism, M/M, Mermaids, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumaru/pseuds/sumaru
Summary: Kageyama didn’t dare touch Tooru then. He only came back with a makeshift garden cart and a tarp, and had listened to Tooru’s beautiful voice needle at him the entire way back to Kageyama’s little apartment.There’s a mermaid that lives in Kageyama’s bathtub. This is probably a fairy tale.





	fatty tuna

There’s a mermaid that lives in Kageyama’s bathtub.  
  
Kageyama doesn't remember why he brought Tooru home from the riverbank, that one evening after class when the storm clouds had cleared and the sky had gone lurid and yellow with the setting of the late sun. But Tooru was shedding scales at an alarming rate, flakes of pale blue peeling dry and ugly from a jagged line of raw flesh along his tail from where the waves had flung him against the rocks. Tooru was beautiful, white skin and white hands and white sharp teeth aglow in the rising moon, and even the angry pink flesh of his meat was beautiful too, soft and lush and rich looking, and when Tooru had turned his beautiful face toward this dark-haired boy who had come upon him, the way disdain had curled that beautiful mouth struck something deep and awed and longing inside of Kageyama.   
  
He didn’t dare touch Tooru then. He only came back with a makeshift garden cart and a tarp, and had listened to Tooru’s beautiful voice needle at him the entire way back to Kageyama’s little apartment. And if Kageyama had prickled at all from the insults that were heaped upon him, when he later tries to think back on this moment, all he can remember is how dark the blood was that carved sinewy lines through the flesh inside of Tooru’s tail, and how everything had moved slow and heavy, as if in a haze that filled all of your lungs and your brain and your heart with salt water from under the deep sea; and something else, something curiously growing and green. 

 

 

 

  
  
“Is this what you call food, Tobio? Figures a human brat like you couldn’t do better.”  
  
Tooru holds a bowl out in front of him and there is only white rice in it. Kageyama frowns, knows that he had topped it with fresh salmon, more than he could afford on his meager student budget to be honest. But Tooru’s tail had not been healing right, and it’s already been a week; canned tuna had apparently not been enough protein, or maybe not the right kind. Tooru splashes impatiently in the bathtub, and water sloshes against Kageyama’s pants where he’s sitting on the edge, holding his own rice bowl. Where the water drips down the brown fabric, it leaves a crude dark trail, like a wound to mirror Tooru’s own. But the water is cold. Maybe Tooru’s blood was cold too, Kageyama thinks, lightheaded from the insistent chill of the bathroom. It has started to smell like winter in here, the air cold and cutting on the tongue, even though outside the late July heat was stifling. Kageyama doesn’t remember the last time he has felt the sun.  
  
“Tooru-san, would you like some of mine,” Kageyama says. He hasn’t had an appetite for days. When he sleeps, he dreams of blue river ice melting under his tongue until it overflows from his choked mouth, spills into his hands, stains the back of his thighs. On those nights, he wakes in his bed; hard, wetness already spreading across the inside of his boxers, and he lies there knowing he can’t go into the occupied bathroom to clean himself.  
  
“ _Honestly_.” Tooru scrunches his nose cutely in disdain and looks at Kageyama’s offered bowl. “You should feed me, Tobio. Like you do a pet. Isn’t that why you’re keeping me here.”  
  
It’s not the two rows of teeth that concern Kageyama. When Tooru speaks, dramatic, lilting, Kageyama can see all the way to the back of his red mouth, see the movement of his tongue, plush and pushing against his lips. They don’t look cold, but sometimes Kageyama can see a small wisp uncurl from under Tooru’s tongue, and he wonders what it would taste of. Would it taste blue, like a soda ice bar; or red, like a cut of fatty tuna.  
  
Instead, he scoops a piece of raw salmon into his palm and offers it almost reverently, and Kageyama tries not to move as Tooru’s lips brush wetly over his fingers, tongue trailing slowly, too slowly, against the curve of his palm as Tooru delicately picks up the salmon with his small white teeth. Kageyama closes his eyes; he knows Tooru is looking right up at him, eyes heavy and half-lidded as he stares right through him, and it’s this knowledge that makes Kageyama stop breathing, makes his blood betray him.  
  
It’s cold in here. He’s trying to be so good. But it’s so cold.  
  
“Please, Tooru-san,” Kageyama says. It feels like winter again. It’s his birthday. It’s snowing and everything smells green.  
  
“Since you asked me so nicely,” Tooru says as two rows of small white teeth bite deep into Kageyama’s hand, and two beautiful white arms pull him into the cold water.

 

 

 

  
  
  
Kageyama was wrong and it tastes nothing like a soda ice bar, or fatty tuna, or even winter at all. He uses his first wish and Tooru eats viciously into Kageyama’s mouth, a small moan breathed between them as Kageyama clumsily straddles Tooru in the too small bathtub, clutching his bleeding hands on Tooru’s shoulders, pressing his clothed cock desperately against the smooth scales of Tooru’s tail. Water spills all over the bathroom floor. Tooru’s tongue tastes like warm spit and salmon and rice vinegar.

 

 

 

  
  
Kageyama uses his second wish, pleads in a small strained voice for it, and Tooru fills his mouth. It’s terrifying at first, and Kageyama chokes on the twin lengths, but when Tooru slides those long white fingers through Kageyama’s wet hair, grips the strands just a little too tight when he says, laughing, “Is that really the best you can do, Tobio-chan?” Kageyama wants to prove him wrong. Tooru tastes like the bitter salt of the earth, nothing like the sea at all.

 

 

 

  
  
  
“What do you want now, Tobio-chan,” Tooru finally asks. So much water had spilled from the bathtub that it was now only half full. “Can never take a hint, can you.”  
  
Kageyama is sitting near Tooru’s fins, careful not to press his feet into the delicate membrane. All his clothes have been discarded except for a thin button-up shirt, now soaked through, and he’s starting to shiver in the cold. Pinpricks run along the inside of his arms, circle haphazardly around his neck, his left collarbone right above the heart, the inside of his knees where white fingers had raked long, thin red lines when they parted him so easily, and pinkish water runs in rivulets down his flushed skin. He stopped bleeding a while ago.  
  
“Can you sing?” Kageyama asks. He’s actually really curious.  
  
“How exhausting of you,” Tooru groans as he tips his head back over the lip of the bathtub, exasperated. He doesn’t look human like this at all, Kageyama thinks. It’s just the elegant curve of Tooru’s naked ribs, the way it looks like moonlight on the water where the dip of silver blue scales meld skin to tail to fin. Tooru’s wound is still raw, puckering around the edges, the meat soft, pink; open. The air is unbearably cold and it smells almost like the river that day, under that impossible yellow sky, and Kageyama can see little white wisps rise from the waterline, right where Tooru’s tail disappears under the remaining water.  
  
There is just so much to Tooru that Kageyama will never understand, and he feels like his lungs are filling with salt water; Kageyama feels the cold air settle like an unbearable weight in his mouth, and he needs to swallow all of it down.  
  
“You little brat,” Tooru grits out as he’s pushed under.   
  
Kageyama’s third wish holds him down. Tooru is softer than anything Kageyama has ever thought possible, Tooru parts easily under his mouth like he’s coming gently in his hand for him, Tooru gets everywhere; in Kageyama’s hair, on his cheek, stuck in his teeth, in the empty longing space between the cage of his ribs and the tightening of his arched spine.  
  
Tooru tastes like Tooru, like fatty tuna, like a single sprig of mint.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mint may or may not be a pheromone.
> 
> But can you believe I went through all of this just to make a fatty tuna joke that doesn't even land properly.


End file.
